Walk on, wandering soul
by Plum'oh
Summary: Tempus Finis has come; fighting someone seems harder than fighting monsters. / spoilers, type0week day 4: destruction.


**Rating:** T

 **Summary:** Tempus Finis has come; fighting someone seems harder than fighting monsters. / spoilers.

 **Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Square Enix.

Oops I forgot to post here...

This was written for day 4 of type0week, destruction. Also that was written months ago and it was just missing a scene, aka I was lazy and I hope this is still good for type0week. :') Also I'm sorry for the boring title.

This is VERY SELF-INDULGENT THOUGH and it only consists of a long fighting scene. Set in another cycle.

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 **Day 4 - destruction:** Walk on, wandering soul

There was something oddly safe in this fight despite the heavy atmosphere. Maybe because his opponent wasn't as big as the previous ones, maybe because the world ending outside the temple seemed far more dangerous, or maybe because Ace had become used to fight monsters and not humans.

The one time he faced a l'Cie head-on he ended up mortally injured, and if not for Mother he would have died. He knew about their absurdly great powers that could raze towns, and the prospect of clashing with such a tremendous strength almost made him take a step back.

But that feeling of security kept him solidly on his two feet, standing upright with his cards in his hands and ready to throw them at any suspicious movement. He had been separated from Nine and Queen with whom he was exploring their part of Pandaemonium—he didn't understand how this temple worked, as one moment they were together, and the next the walls twisted and a whole new room presented itself to him. And in this room stood the l'Cie of Milites, he presumed with the white cloak he was staring at.

The l'Cie took out his weapon, twin blades that made Ace frown; he had known only one person who wielded these without trouble, and he had a hard time imagining fighting against them. Sparring with Machina had never been an easy battle since their fighting styles were so different that the outcome would change every two sessions. But this time it wasn't a spar, and Ace should think that he was lucky to already have tasted this kind of struggle.

When the l'Cie lunged at him he gritted his teeth, cursing himself for being distracted by such a tiny detail, and quickly drew up four cards to block the attack. The blade slashed through them but it bought enough time for Ace to back away, and this time not to hesitate to initiate an assault. He charged more energy into a card and threw it right at the man's head, but the l'Cie seemed to have anticipated something like this as he swiftly bypassed the projectile to run straight at him. Ace didn't bother dodging this time, erecting a barrier of ice with one spike that cut into the l'Cie's arm. The latter quickly withdrew but his stance didn't show any change, as if the dripping blood wasn't enough to make him drop one of his swords. He even tightened his grip on his blades, on the contrary, and Ace had to wonder if becoming l'Cie also enhanced the body to the point that injuries considered lethal for a human weren't for l'Cies.

He decided to try another technique, and grabbed five cards he put another spell on. He then threw them one by one, traveling fast enough to reach their target in mere milliseconds, and each exploded after a short time. The generated smoke prevented him from seeing whether the attack was successful, so he stayed on his guard, already preparing his next set of cards. His head was clear, calmly focusing on what was before him, but the twist in his stomach made him swallow—he couldn't place his finger on what was wrong in this picture.

The l'Cie suddenly surged forward, unscathed and displaying a speed that Ace didn't suspect he was capable of, and the twin blades dangerously smashed the barrier of ice. The cold shards scattered all around them and Ace had to duck, while he created a belt of cards that he then pushed towards his opponent. The projectiles grated against the swords, but it wasn't enough to repel the man as he continued his advance in giant steps, before he rammed a blade through Ace's right shoulder. Ace choked out a pained cry as hot liquid ran down his arm, limb dangling at his side and rendered suspiciously useless. He tried not to focus on the pain that was burning his entire being, but it was all too present and real to expect something else than blooming agony in his head. Even though his breathing came out ragged, his eyes remained firmly set on his opponent's helmet, intrepid and defiant and hard. He couldn't feel his arm anymore; instead, he brought up his left hand and produced a shard of ice he directly thrust into the l'Cie's own right shoulder. A low growl escaped the man's throat and he withdrew, the blade still locked into Ace's shoulder.

Something like recognition passed through Ace's eyes when he realized that he knew this posture. The way this person awkwardly held his injury, shoulders stiff with anxiousness (maybe?) and the way he was protectively keeping his other blade close to him, like he was afraid of being exposed if he didn't show he was armed. But Ace didn't know enough to make such an assumption—and it would come with a horrifying truth, a truth he wasn't sure he was ready to face. Yet his throat went dry, and for a tiny moment he forgot his pain to utter a single word.

"Machina?"

The name came out as foreign, suddenly bitter and not quite how it should feel while addressing a classmate. Ace didn't have enough evidence to know if it was Machina, but it just _had_ to. He couldn't remember where Machina went before the Rursus soldiers attacked; did he even take part in the assault on Ingram? His memories were hazy.

The l'Cie stilled, and Ace wished that he wasn't wearing the helmet—he wanted to see what kind of expression that man showed, wanted to see if it was the right person, wanted to see if he wasn't making a mistake. All he could do was staring at the figure dressed in white, laboured breaths disturbing the silence in the room and hot liquid trickling down his arm making his vision blurred. The aching spread to his whole body and Ace feared that his legs would give out any second from now, as he couldn't pull out the blade without risking dying from blood loss (he could cast a healing spell, but right now he didn't trust his ability to focus enough on his injury).

He was waiting for an answer.

"Is that you?" he asked again. "Say something. If you're not Machina, tell me who you are."

He had not deemed important to know his opponent's identity at first since he planned on killing him, but if the white l'Cie really was Machina, could he do it? Could he raise his hand once more against someone he knew, to strike with a clear purpose? Could he cast away all the guilt he felt with a single snap of his fingers? It would be the easy way out, wouldn't it?

Ace let out a shuddering breath just as his opponent took a step forward. He needed to do something. He couldn't die here, not when there was still so many things to accomplish—where _were_ the others? He still remembered all of them, so they were alive. He couldn't be the only one to die.

He sharply inhaled and clenched his teeth. One step, he lifted his hand. Two steps, he grabbed the handle of the blade. Three steps, he pulled it out with a scream he wasn't even aware he was capable of. The pain lacerated his body and his mind seemed unable to divert its attention from the _hot, hot, burning pain_ in his shoulder but he had no other choice than to blindly charge a cura in his hand to press it onto the seeping injury. The healing process was equally awful with its throbbing and stinging, yet he didn't have much time to mull over this agony as he ducked under the l'Cie's hand and rolled farther away. He suppressed groans and moans when his entire being yelled at his foolishness—reckless decisions looked rather appealing right now, anyway, the survival instinct didn't care about logic. He scrambled to his feet with hisses, head pounding and ears ringing. That was why he usually let the others do the healing—mainly Deuce and Queen, and Rem when she arrived. Healing and fighting, both at the same time required way too much energy and Ace wasn't accustomed to it; he didn't have an endless supply of magic and he would have to end this battle soon. The l'Cie looked barely scratched to his dismay, but he couldn't give up.

"I feel like I'm fighting a monster, rather than someone," he kept going on. "At least with a monster, I would know there is some kind of life inside them. Are you really alive?"

Ace wanted to rip this helmet off. The more he looked at his opponent, the more he was convinced it was Machina, but he couldn't get an answer out of him and the only reaction he could stir up was a counterattack. He didn't have any other choice; he would have to neutralize him. He exhaled through his nose, conjured up an explosive spell with his cards, and threw them at the l'Cie. And to Ace's surprise, his opponent seemed to have lost focus as he missed the chance to fully dodge the attack. The cards etched themselves into the helmet.

Ace watched, wide-eyed, the helmet desintegrating into pieces and scattering on the floor, a sound similar to thousands of crystals being dropped. At first he followed the destroyed helmet falling, mesmerized for a second by his unexpected successful attack, but then he remembered what this entailed so his eyes snapped back up and he was met with a stumbling figure, and thinking he actually made a lot of damage he crossed the distance between them and he stared.

Short, blue hair, an angular face he had seen contorted with anger and grief way too many times (but did he even understand what these feelings were?) stared back and Ace thought he could finally end this fight. He extended his hand, his uninjured one, words of relief on the edge of his lips but he never got to catch what he wanted or say what he meant.

He felt it before he saw it; anybody would think that undergoing the same pain twice in a row was highly unlikely, but Ace couldn't agree. His side was screaming, twisting his insides, making his head spin and the world swirl, and when he opened his mouth it was to cough up blood. The red liquid left a bitter taste on his tongue as it dripped down, one bead after one, while it fell in patches on the floor from the blade still deep embed in his body. He couldn't focus anymore.

The green eyes slowly shifted, but Ace didn't pay any attention to it. He summoned his cards, once more, faint blue glowing in his hands, that he shoved on the l'Cie's stomach.

His lips curved upward.

"It's going to be all right."

Class Zero was Akademeia's elite, Akademeia's pride and core. This was what Mother told them. They were the ones who would save Orience and the decisions they took were always right. Accomplishing a mission meant a success, and success was what they were raised to reach.

Ace closed his eyes, breath coming out in shallow blows. That was his last bout of energy— _(damn it damn it why)_. He was strangely calm, albeit a bit frustrated in the confusion of his thoughts; maybe he was way too used to death to feel anything. Has he ever felt something out of the ordinary? He didn't know. At least he knew what emotions looked like on someone else's face.

Machina's gaze settled on him, but Ace couldn't focus with his eyes.

"Ace... ?"

Noise filtered through the white light, and Ace pushed his spell into his cards.

"It's going to be all right," he repeated.

Class Zero's mission was to prevent Orience from falling apart. One of the objectives to do so was to neutralize the White Tiger's l'Cies.

The cards burst in icy spikes right in-between them.

Something tugged at his mind. A name slipped. A face disappeared.

His mouth changed into a flat line as his body went limp and his own name vanished.


End file.
